


Something Different

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Fluff, Glasses, John is a Naughty Boy, M/M, Paddling, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Restraints, Rimming, Sherlock is a Stern Librarian, Smut, Wooden Paddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 09:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10761777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: John buys Sherlock reading glasses and Sherlock eventually capitulates. Seeing Sherlock in reading glasses excites John's boyhood fantasy of his school librarian. Sherlock decides to play off of John's obvious excitement over the glasses. Punishment and hot, dirty sex happens. Also, because it's me, some fluff at the end because my boys are so in love with each other.





	Something Different

* * *

John had decided without getting Sherlock's input ( _ha! payback_ , he thought) that he would buy Sherlock a pair of reading glasses. When John found himself standing at the display of reading glasses in Tesco, he couldn't decide which strength Sherlock might need. He didn't even have to put on a pair to see they only magnified text. They started at a strength of .75 and went all the way up to 3.75, which left John undecided. He was almost never undecided – he made decisions quickly yet confidently. He wasn't a ditherer. Sherlock was a ditherer.

With that thought, he grabbed the three lowest strengths and then deliberated only a few seconds more before getting another pair of each because he knew Sherlock and Sherlock would lose them. John would probably have to start ordering them in bulk and leaving them in every draw in the flat.

He sighed with annoyance as he made his way to the queue area. As he waited, though, he couldn't help but think how truly adorable it was that Sherlock needed reading glasses. He would look deliciously scholarly. Like a librarian. John felt a frisson of desire slither down his spine.

When he had been in year eight of secondary school, he had taken an interest in military history after they'd read about the Napoleonic wars. The time allocated to studying it had been woefully short and John had pursued his interest on his own time, probably the only time in school he had devoted outside time to a subject until he had decided to study medicine. With this new fascination with military history, he had made his first stop the school library.

At the time, his hormones had kicked in with a fury he had both resented and welcomed. He'd always been a bit slight but suddenly he was developing muscles without any real effort on his part. Ate like a horse, though. His mum had complained constantly of the extra cost for groceries.

The school librarian, Miss Palmer, had seemed both ancient and young at the same time. She'd probably been in her thirties at the time, early thirties at that. Miss Palmer had worn glasses – not reading ones but the prescription kind – and before John's hormones had overtaken him he had seen Miss Palmer as simply another teacher, someone whose personal life he had no interest in and whose physical self even less.

Then – hormones. Suddenly, John was obsessed with both the Napoleonic Wars and Miss Palmer, obsessions that dovetailed nicely. He spent as much time in the library as he could, surreptitiously watching Miss Palmer and saving up details for his wanking sessions at night.

One day, Miss Palmer had been sitting at her desk, looking through books for pencil marks or damage before putting them in the trolley to be shelved. She accidentally pushed something over the front edge of her desk – John could no longer recall what if he had ever even registered it at the time – and she had stood up and peered over her desk, affording John a multi-wank worthy view of her cleavage. The books in John's hands had clattered to the floor and as Miss Palmer sat back down in her chair, she had looked at him over the top of her glasses, frowning slightly at the noise.

Miss Palmer was the first woman he had ever loved but he hadn't considered until now the effect her glasses had had on him. As he walked to the street to hail a taxi, the carrier bags slapping against his legs, he wondered if seeing Sherlock in glasses would have the same effect on him as Miss Palmer's glasses had.

* * *

 

Sherlock dug through the carrier bags before John had even gotten them onto the table.

"Stop!" he said, smacking Sherlock's hands away. "Stop, Sherlock! Let me at least get it all out on the table!"

"Did you get the brie?" Sherlock asked, continuing to paw through the bags.

"Yes, and I got water crackers as well on the off chance your request for brie wasn't for an experiment but for actual eating purposes."

"What," Sherlock said with a quiet, cool voice, "are these?"

John knew without turning around that Sherlock had found the reading glasses.

"Oh, go on, Sherlock, you know you need them. They're five quid at the Tesco, so I grabbed you some. Don't you want to be able to read the papers by yourself?"

"You spent – " Sherlock dug all six pairs out of the bag. " – thirty pounds on reading glasses?"

"Sherlock," John chastised. "You spend sixty pounds on your bloody aftershave. I think spending thirty pounds so that you can read the damn papers on your own is money well spent."

John went into the sitting room and picked up a paper off the coffee table and took it back into the kitchen. He thrust it into Sherlock's hands.

"Go on, then. Try 'em on and tell me if they work."

Sherlock took it all into the sitting room and tossed it onto the couch and then went back into the kitchen, pulling the Brie out of the carrier bag with a cry of triumph.

"The water crackers," he said, holding out his hand.

"For eating, then. Glad I took the chance," John said wryly, handing Sherlock the box of water crackers and a cheese knife.

Sherlock went back into the sitting room and sat on the couch eating Brie and staring at the newspapers. John watched him. Sherlock glanced at the papers, squinted, tilted his head back a bit, scowled and then looked at the reading glasses on the couch beside him. Then he would cut off a slice of Brie, slap it on a cracker, and stuff the whole thing in his mouth. (Sherlock had terrible table manners for someone with an upper-class background. In other words, Posh Boy was a pig.)

Sherlock repeated the entire process about four times before choking on the Brie at which point he hollered at John to bring him some tea. John obliged. John made his own cup before sitting down at the desk to work on his notes for his next blog entry. As much as he wanted to see Sherlock just get on with it, he knew that admissions of so-called weaknesses were harder for Sherlock than they were for normal people. So he sat in the chair facing away from Sherlock and quickly got lost in spinning the facts of the case into a blog entry worth reading.

"John!" Sherlock said, startling John. He had been deeply engrossed in typing up the opening "scene" of his blog post.

"Sorry, what?" John asked, turning around in his chair.

"I said it's time to go pick Rosie up from nursery school," Sherlock replied, scowling.

John's mouth had gone suddenly dry. His heart rate skyrocketed. His cock began to swell with blood.

Sherlock was staring at John – frowning, really – over a pair of reading glasses. The sight of Sherlock looking both scholarly and stern left John transfixed. Sherlock ripped the glasses off and tossed them on the table.

"Look, I put the damn things on but there's no reason to mock me for it," Sherlock said, standing up. He looked around for his suit jacket and, finding it, stalked over to pull it on. "I'll go pick her up."

He walked by John who was only now beginning to be able to make coherent thoughts.

"What is wrong with you, John?" Sherlock asked impatiently, reaching for his gloves and muffler. "You look struck dumb."

"Those glasses – so hot," John finally managed to choke out.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion for a second and then his face cleared and a sultry smile gradually tilted up the corner of his mouth.

"John," he said, lowering his voice to its deepest timbre. "Do my glasses turn you on?"

He started walking over to John who weakly held up a hand to stop him.

"Rosie?" he croaked.

"Don't worry. I'll run along to fetch her in a moment."

Without looking at John, Sherlock's hand darted out and snatched a pair of glasses off the table and slipped them on.

"Is it just the fact that I'm wearing them?" Sherlock asked, peering at John through the glasses. Since they were made for reading, he couldn't see John clearly and tilted his head forward to look over the top of them.

"That!" John gasped and then shivered. "It makes me feel like a naughty boy who marked up his library book."

Sherlock's mouth opened in delight and then snapped shut. He pulled off the glasses, tossed them on the table and then pierced John with his gaze.

"I think I might have something a little different for you tonight. An early Christmas present, I think. Anyway, I'll be back quick as I can. Need to grab something that Mrs. Hudson borrowed from me and never returned and then get Rosie and then I'll be home. You pick what to eat for supper and I'll make sure Rosie gets to bed early. What do you think?"

"I – " John began to say but Sherlock cut him off.

"Yes! I knew you would agree!"

With that, he whirled around and was gone.

"I was going to say sounds lovely," John said into the silence of the flat. Then he grinned and went back to his blog.

* * *

 

Sherlock knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door. As soon as she opened it, Sherlock was pushing his way in and talking.

"I need my wooden paddle back, Mrs. Hudson. I've got something planned for John tonight."

"Oh, how lovely!" Mrs. Hudson said and clapped her hands together. She wasn't even blushing, as though planning an evening involving a wooden paddle with one's boyfriend was roughly equivalent to tea and cakes in the park of a Sunday afternoon.

Sherlock waited impatiently, checking his watch, before Mrs. Hudson finally appeared and handed it over.

"I appreciate it, Sherlock. Mr. Warren and I – "

"Don't want to know!" Sherlock called over his shoulder as he rushed through her door, slamming it in her face.

* * *

Rosie's normal bedtime was eight but Sherlock managed to have her down by seven. He had stashed the wooden paddle in their bedroom, in the same drawer in which they kept a variety of personal lubricants as well as a few toys they had picked up over the course of their relationship. He had also stashed the sash from his silk dressing gown, a blindfold, and four hardback books in which he had scribbled on random pages in pencil. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

He did so love it when John was a bit rough with him but nothing was more exciting for Sherlock than exaggerating his normal characteristics of arrogance and disdain to drive John mad. Oh, John complained plenty about Sherlock being a _bloody arsehole_ but the very things that might be annoying or even angering outside of the bedroom could become deliciously erotic inside the bedroom.

"I think we'll skip tea tonight, John," Sherlock said. He was sitting in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin, staring at John who stood in the kitchen holding the kettle in his hand and looking a little bit lost.

Sherlock stood up and walked over to the desk where he had laid out all six pairs of reading glasses. He made a big show of choosing a pair, sliding his fingers over them as though they were actually John's skin. Sherlock had to bite back a groan at the thought of the mouth-watering blush that bloomed on John's skin under Sherlock's loving hands.

He picked up a pair, looked them over, holding them out to examine, like someone trying to decide on what to wear. Then he put them on and looked at John over the top. John's mouth was open and he was still holding the kettle and looking a little lost, the only difference being the slight bulge Sherlock could see in John's trousers.

"No, not that pair," Sherlock said and put it down. He skimmed his fingertips along another pair, picked them up and put them on and again tilted his head forward to look at John over the top. The bulge in John's pants had grown, much to Sherlock's delight.

"This pair, I think," Sherlock said. He took them off, tucked them in the pocket of his trousers and walked towards the stairs to their room. "Well, come along then, darling. We don't have all night."

Sherlock leaned up against the dresser, his legs crossed at the ankle and his arms folded against his chest. He put the glasses on and waited. He was still fully dressed, including his suit jacket.

John walked in and Sherlock looked down at him over the glasses.

"You, John, have been a very naughty boy," Sherlock said and cocked an eyebrow. "Please sit down."

He gestured at the straight backed chair he had brought up and John sat down. Sherlock picked up one of the books he had laid on the dresser behind him.

"Not only are your books overdue but you have defaced library property," Sherlock said. He walked towards John, opening to the scribbled on pages, and circled behind John. He stood behind John and held the book over his shoulder.

"Look at this childish scribbling, John," Sherlock said. "I'm so disappointed in you. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Uh – " John said, licking his lips. "I'm sorry?"

"You're _sorry_?" Sherlock scoffed. "You have disregarded the two most sacred rules of the school library! Your books are two weeks overdue and you have marked them up as though they were your own drawing pad! I think something more than a pathetic apology is required here."

"And what's, um – what did you have in mind?" John asked hoarsely.

"I think you know perfectly well what has to be done here, John," Sherlock said imperiously. He put the book back on the dresser. "You, John, will have to be punished."

"Oh?"

"Yes, John. As much as it pains me to be forced into this method of correction, I must say I cannot see an alternative. This is the fourth book you have abused in such a manner."

He gestured to the stack of books behind him. John peered at them as though they might have the answer to every sexual desire he had ever had tucked away in their pages. Sherlock walked over to the drawer and pulled out the blindfold, the paddle, and the silk sash. He picked up the blindfold by the strap, letting it dangle from his finger and walked over to John.

"Remove your clothes, John, fold them neatly and put them on the chair," Sherlock said.

John stood up eyeing the wooden paddle nervously, but complied. Sherlock walked up to him and stepped behind him, pressing his body up against John's, making it very clear that he was also deeply aroused by pushing his erection into the small of John's back. Then he slipped the blindfold over John's eyes and tightened it until it was snug but not uncomfortable. He took John's hand and led him over to the chair and placed John's hands onto the back. He wound the sash over and around John's hands and through the slats in the back of the chair until John's hands were tightly held in place. He slipped two fingers under the bindings and John's wrists, making sure they wouldn't be too uncomfortable.

Then he walked around behind John, trailing his fingers along John's skin from shoulder to bum so that John would know that Sherlock was moving behind him. He grabbed John by the hips and jerked him up so that his arse was high in the air.

"Oh, John," he murmured, wanting to have John right there, just like that. He caressed first one and then the other of John's arse cheeks. "God, you are beautiful. I love to look at you. You are, by far, the most beautiful man I have ever met."

"Oh, shut it, you flirt," John moaned.

"Now then," Sherlock said, back in character. "I expect you to take your punishment like a man. No crying or begging. You boys today have no backbone. I want to hear you say _I will not mar or deface library property_ after every spank, understood?"

"Yeah," John said.

"Not _yeah_ , John!"

"Um, yes – sir?"

"Louder!"

"Yes sir!" John roared in the voice of Captain John Watson.

"Steady on," Sherlock said, giggling. "I'm the boss here."

He stroked John's arse cheek and then the other, before pulling his arm back and whacking a cheek with the paddle.

John grunted and instinctively tried to tuck his rear. Sherlock jerked him back up.

"What were you supposed to say, John?"

"I will not mar or deface public property!" John cried.

"Not _public_ property! _Library_ property," Sherlock corrected.

"Oh, yeah, right," John said, beginning to breathe hard.

Sherlock pulled his arm back again (his tennis backhand was showing well in this endeavor) and let the paddle sail through the air before cracking down on the other cheek.

" _Oh fuuuck_ ," John groaned, again trying to tuck his arse away from Sherlock.

He and Sherlock had a phrase they could use to halt any proceedings if it became too much, but until John used it, Sherlock would take great pleasure in the feel of the muscles of his arm bunching and lengthening as he pulled it back to release the paddle and the _whoosh_ the paddle made as it descended on John's sublimely reddening arse.

" _Oh fuck_ is not what you're supposed to say, John!" Sherlock barked.

"Um – uh I will not mar or deface public – I mean library property!" John groaned.

"Very good," Sherlock murmured, petting John's cheeks gently. He bent and kissed each one, the skin hot against his lips, and Sherlock again had to take a deep breath and calm himself lest he shed his trousers and fuck John right then.

He stood up and took of his suit jacket, tossing it on the bed, and then undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He grazed his hands over John's cheeks again, then bent and licked up the cleft of his arse, eager to employ everything new he had learned from and about John in the previous twenty-four hours.

" _Oh fuuuuuck_ ," John cried out again.

"Eventually, darling, eventually," Sherlock said against John's tailbone. He didn't usually call John _darling_ ; in fact, he avoided endearments altogether for the most part, feeling most of them infantilized one's partner. _Dear_ he hated because his mother and Mrs. Hudson used them liberally and the idea of using the same endearment on John that Sherlock's mother used on him was just – _ick_.

 _Darling_ , though – Sherlock would call John _darling_ dozens of times a day if he could but he didn't want it to get old. He wanted the endearment to be something special. He most often used it in situations like this where John was at his mercy. He wanted John to know that no matter how rough or arrogantly he treated John, that in these moments of playful and electrifying intimacy that John was and always would be the most precious thing in Sherlock's life.

 _Enough sentiment_ , he chastised himself.

He licked up deeper into John's cleft, not parting the cheeks with anything but his tongue. He pulled back and licked each half of John's arse, the skin provoking his desire. His penis was beginning to wet his pants.

Without warning, he cracked down on each cheek in quick succession.

" _I will not mar or deface library property_!" John yelled.

"Sh," Sherlock said, kissing the obscenely red skin of John's arse. "You'll wake Rosie."

"Sherlock, I really, really need you to fuck me," John hissed.

"Not yet," Sherlock said.

John growled in irritation.

"So impatient, my pretty darling," Sherlock said and grinned in wicked delight.

"My cock is leaving a fucking puddle on the rug, Sherlock, so _yeah_ bit impatient over here."

Sherlock smacked John's cheeks with his hands for that impertinence. One cheek twice then the other cheek. Then a lull. He spread one half of John's arse with his hand and slapped against the inside of the cheek. John moaned long and deep, pushing himself back against Sherlock, the sign Sherlock had been looking for.

"You took your punishment very well, John," Sherlock said.

He took off his belt then unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down along with his pants, which he kicked away. Then he quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Eagerly he bent down and pushed John's cheeks roughly apart before giving John the same treatment with his tongue that John had given him the night before.

The sounds he drew out of John as he fucked him with his tongue reminded Sherlock of that long ago night when they had gone from friends to lovers, the first time he had ever made love to John in any form. He could still remember the joy of feeling John's cock inside of his body for the first time, even though it was just his mouth.

He played John just as eagerly and devotedly as he had done then, John's voice more beautiful than the most beautiful violin sonata Sherlock had ever heard.

Sherlock picked up the glasses where he had left them and slipped them on before gently untying John's hands and then slipping the blindfold off. Even the dim lighting made John blink and squint. Sherlock got himself under John's arms, knowing that being in the same position for that long would leave him a bit weak, not to mention the fine spanking he had endured so well.

Sherlock turned John around. John's pupils flared wide at the sight of Sherlock in glasses. Sherlock reached down and trailed two fingers up from the base of John's erection to the tip where he used the pad of only one finger to circle the slit, wetting it with John's pre-ejaculate. The whole time he held John's eyes. Then he slipped his finger into his mouth and licked off the taste of John, whose head fell back with a strangled moan.

Sherlock laid him out gently on the bed, pulled the lube out of the drawer and slathered himself in it generously as well as two of his fingers which he pushed inside John and rubbed around a couple of times just to relax John enough to take Sherlock.

He lined himself up against John. "Okay?" he murmured.

John nodded.

Sherlock groaned as he sank into John's body, the hot, slick feel like a shot straight to his hypothalamus. He got his knees up under John's rear, the inflamed skin thrilling Sherlock when it came into contact with his own. Then he bent over John and set a hard but slow pace, his abdomen stroking John's cock with each forward shove.

He kissed John's lips and cheeks and throat, tongue and teeth devouring John's skin. He would never have enough of John – never – not as long as they lived would he ever think that John was boring in any way, in or out of bed, no matter how much they enjoyed trying different things. It was never about being bored.

John came with a growling cry, and Sherlock watched with delight as a spurt of John's semen hit John's chin. Without even thinking about it, Sherlock darted forward and licked it off of John's chin and the taste of John drove him over the edge of his own orgasm and John caught Sherlock's mouth with his as Sherlock came, fingers tangled in his hair.

They sank back, Sherlock on top of John, both of their chests heaving, sucking in oxygen, nerves still singing. Sherlock took the reading glasses off and tossed them on the floor.

"Good?" Sherlock murmured against John's neck, his cock slowly softening inside John.

"Mm," John agreed, fingers trailing down Sherlock's back, causing Sherlock to twitch and inhale sharply.

They lay like that, their skin getting stuck together by John's semen, Sherlock's cock slowly slipping out of John until they were both recovered. They stumbled off to the shower, grinning stupidly at each other, the joy of love and sex better than even the best case.

John changed the sheets while Sherlock took the dirty ones down to be laundered. They settled into bed together, Sherlock folded up against John, his lips seeking out John's neck before he settled himself on his back and tucked John against him, kissing his wet head.

"Do you have a shift tomorrow?" Sherlock murmured, carding his fingers through John's damp hair.

"Yeah," John mumbled against Sherlock's ear.

"Sleep, then. I'll stay here until you do."

"You're getting up?" John asked, disappointment evident in his voice.

"Still haven't finished reading the papers," Sherlock said, chuckling. "I was too eager to play the stern librarian with my new glasses to go over them much."

"Ah," John said, nodding his head slightly. "Are you still upset about needing them?"

"Not at all," Sherlock murmured. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"Always have, always will."

Sherlock pressed his lips against John's temple and didn't move until John fell asleep, the joy of John's weight in his arms so intense it was an ache deep inside him. He changed his mind about reading the papers and instead pressed his cheek against John's forehead and let himself stay until the rise and fall of John's chest under his hand and the puff of John's breath over his neck soothed him into sleep.


End file.
